


Meet Me by the Shores

by Nyanoka



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Diamond & Pearl & Platinum | Pokemon Diamond Pearl Platinum Versions
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Character Study, Depression, Future Fic, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23036713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyanoka/pseuds/Nyanoka
Summary: Volkner and Lucas have a conversation about the future over breakfast.
Relationships: Denzi | Volkner/Kouki | Lucas | Diamond
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Meet Me by the Shores

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to contribute something to Stokeshipping since that's been an OTP for the series since the games released over a decade ago, and I wanted to do something less "titillating" than the Piers/Victor fic I wrote. I don't think that one's any less serious, intellectually or otherwise, of a fic though; that one's just way more NSFW and dealing with different themes and ideas than what I want for this fic.
> 
> Also went with a more "Stream-of-Consciousness" style of writing.
> 
> This is also a "cool-down" piece for me in a way since life's hard. ^^;

“Volkner, it’s time to get out of bed. It’s three in the afternoon.”

Soft murmurs, the feel of a familiar hand on his bicep, and the gentle shake that ensues after.

Despite the other’s insistence and the motion itself, Volkner does not turn towards the source nor does he open his eyes. Instead, he breathes, eyes still closed. There is a slight chill in the room. Even with the heater on, the windows closed, and his blanket pulled up to his waist, the Sinnoh air pervades their room like an unwelcomed suitor.

Breathe in, breath out, breath in—then sleep.

Those are the only thoughts he can entertain today. Anything else would be too tiresome, too strenuous. But still, the shaking continues, gentle as always, and the voice continues in the near-quiet of the room.

Faintly, he hears the flickering of the lights overhead, each bulb clicking like autumn’s band of Kricketots. He would have to replace them tomorrow.

But still, the voice continues.

“Volkner, please.”

There are no trite “for me”s or useless promises, and Volkner appreciates that. To him, those are nothing more than bland and insipid statements—nothing more than personal ego-stroking and bequeathed guilt.

Volkner turns, and he opens his eyes.

Lucas stares back, his hand still on Volkner’s bicep. Briefly, Volkner resists the urge to rub his eyes. The grit from last night’s sleep pricks, itching.

“It’s three in the afternoon,” Lucas reiterates. There is no mean-spiritedness or irritation in his words. It is simply fact.

Volkner doesn’t reply, but he continues anyway.

“I made breakfast—well, it’s brunch now—today.”

It is a benign sort of statement, but Volkner understands the implications anyway.

“I’m tired,” he replies. It is an honest sort of statement even if it isn’t particularly inspired.

“I know, but it’s _three_ ”—Lucas emphasizes this time, tongue curling on the number—“Flint came by earlier too. Didn’t want to disturb you, so I told him you were busy today.”

“Weren’t you supposed to be busy today?” Volkner remembers the conversation they had at dinner. It had been Lucas’s choice last night—some upscale Unovan-themed seafood restaurant that he couldn’t pronounce the name of without slurring.

They had gone because Lucas had wanted to try the Basculin soup, Destiny’s recommendation naturally. Volkner doesn’t remember what he had ordered. It had been a good—good by his standards anyway—sort of day. At least until dinner. He doesn't know what triggered it. He never does. At 7 p.m. as per their reservation time, he had felt the budding fog, rolling and ebbing as the seas around Sunyshore did before a storm. He had hoped sleep would drive it away as it sometimes did, but it hadn’t. It had only stirred the waters. Like a heated pot, the waters had only boiled, whistling, until it had overflowed.

He isn’t a particularly spectacular cook. Unlike his battling prowess, he is only average—below-average even in some cases. He doesn’t know how to fix this.

Lucas dismisses his question. “Professor Rowan doesn’t need my report until next Friday. I just want to spend the day with you. It’s your day-off after all, and I have to leave for Galar next month for the Champion showcase”—he pauses for a second, musing—"Though, I don’t know why they need the Elite Four for that as well when the main appeal of the tourney is the Champions. Dawn’s exciting enough for everyone anyway.”

 _It’s a lie_ , his mind urges, _he’s wasting his time again because of you_.

Time. Time. _Time_.

He has wasted it again.

“I made brunch,” Lucas continues, “I want to eat it with you today. We don’t have to go anywhere if you don’t want to. I just want to spend some time with you.”

Overhead, the lights flicker, trilling their own nonsensical, unrequested reply.

“Okay.” His answer is simple, but it is the best he can do at the moment.

But still, the beaming smile that splits Lucas’s face is nice enough even as it twists at his heart.

Heaving himself out of bed and to the bathroom feels like stepping on shards of seashells.

* * *

Today’s breakfast is toast with mixed berry jam, Pikachu-shaped pancakes with chocolate powdered cheeks, and blended Mago Berry juice.

It’s cold and a bit chewy, but Volkner doesn’t complain. It’s his fault anyway. A jab of guilt had nicked his heart when a rumble had sounded from Lucas’s stomach.

“No milk, and the poffins are missing as well. I think Electivire and Flygon got into the fridge again. That’s the problem with having Pokémon with opposable thumbs, you know?” Lucas’s chatter fills the kitchen alongside the hum of the fridge and the pattering steps of their Pokémon from the other rooms. Volkner doesn’t mind. It fills the silence well enough, and he always enjoys hearing Lucas’s tangents. It eases the silent squall within his head.

Volkner tries to focus on his words, but instead, his eyes are drawn to Lucas’s features. They’ve known each other for little over a decade already—eight have been spent together in a more intimate sense, and seven have been in the same home.

Time has treated Lucas well. His cheeks are no longer overly round, having shed away the last vestiges of adolescence years ago, and his eyes are narrower, lacking in the rounded naivety of youth. Though, the softness of kindness remains, diluting what would be the grey of a raging storm to the melancholic shade of a gentle rain. His shoulders are wider as well even as he wears a replica of his younger’s self’s jacket.

That had been a gift from him when Lucas had a last-minute growth spurt. The other man had simply been too miserable-looking when he found that his favorite jacket no longer fit perfectly. Volkner vividly remembers how his face had lit up in joy.

Lucas still wears his hair in a similar fashion to his childhood self—choppy as if he had cut it blind yet oddly endearing. Volkner thinks so anyway.

But still, there still isn’t a ring or a promise that isn’t given in only words.

He is thirty now, and Lucas is twenty-four.

“You can find someone else, you know,” he says, and Lucas stills, his fork’s tines embedded into a half-eaten pancake. It is macabre in a way—to be tearing into something so devilishly cute—but Lucas has always enjoyed cooking and its artfulness. He couldn’t quite stand the idea of simply making something mundane—something to be eaten just as fuel.

From the other room, he hears the Pokémon still. They always seemed to listen in a way that most people didn’t.

“Do you want me to?” Lucas asks. His voice doesn’t waver, but Volkner notices the tenseness in his hands anyway.

“I don’t, but it’s getting worse, even with the medication,” Volkner says. “You still have time to find someone else.”

He doesn’t say _someone else who isn’t fucked up and irritatingly tiresome_. It is too crass for his taste, but he thinks Lucas understands anyway. They’ve been together for so long. Time comes as a blur for Volkner, but he always tries to remember.

But, he is tired, so very tired. He doesn’t want to be, but he is.

Minutes pass, and he almost thinks Lucas will leave, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he speaks.

“I don’t want anyone else though,” Lucas says finally. His grip on the fork is still tight, but it had loosened slightly.

Volkner doesn’t speak. It isn’t his right to, not now anyway. He doesn’t feel right looking at Lucas either. Instead, he merely looks downward at his soggy pancakes. He’s used too much syrup today.

Lucas sets the fork down with a clink, tines face down on the plate. From the other room, he hears the slight scramble of footsteps drawing closer to the kitchen and then a small, pained squeak. Lucas’s Raichu has never been the sneakiest sort nor the most elegant. Though, he had always been the most curious of their Pokémon. It wouldn’t have surprised Volkner if the Pokémon had been sent by the others to eavesdrop.

“I want to be here with you,” he says again after moments of silence.

“Are you su—”

“Yes.” There is a firmness to his voice. “You can ask me as many times as you want, and my answer will always be yes.”

A sigh then. “I just wish you talked with me more. You don’t have to keep going at this alone. Flint’s worried, and so’s everyone else. I’m worried too.”

“I’m sorry.” That is all he feels he can say.

“Don’t be.” Another sigh before Volkner hears the sound of a chair sliding and footsteps, and he feels a pair of arms wrap around his shoulders in a hug.

“Just talk with me—with everyone—more.”

“Okay,” he says after a pause. It is a simple answer once more, but it is an honest one. He feels Lucas’s arms tighten around him, and he returns the hug awkwardly.

He wishes he weren’t so mediocre at this, but he is. It isn’t touch that bothers him. It is the sentimentality and the openness behind it. He doesn’t know what to do with it.

Breakfast passes without anymore mishaps even as their Pokémon do a bewilderingly bad job at snooping. Typhlosion is too high-strung, Snorlax and Torterra too big to fit into the kitchen, and Lucario too intense. Among his own, he sees Luxray and Jolteon staring from the stairway banister. The others are too inconspicuous for spying. Well, except perhaps Rotom, but it had hidden in the coffee maker again. Much like Lucas’s Raichu, it isn’t all too good at spying, not without directions anyway.

He helps Lucas with the dishes today. He always does, or at the very least, he tries to.

When they get close to finishing, Volkner speaks once more.

“Do you want to visit Hearthome today? We can always fly there. Or maybe the beach if that’s too far?”

With hands still covered in soap suds, Lucas smiles. From the living room, he can hear the chatter of their Pokémon resume.

“Sure.”

He tries, both for himself and for Lucas.

**Author's Note:**

> The ending isn't a magic cure or anything. I don't care for fic or work that solves issues like this in one stroke. It's more of a open-ended ending, but if you want my answer, they do work it out eventually. It's not a "I am now not depressed ever" type of deal but more of "I will work at it even if it's painful" type of answer because honestly, sadness clings like mildew. It's something you just exist with and mitigate.
> 
> Themes for this fic were both "Depression" and "Time." I always saw Volkner as being depressed in his home games since he loses interests in his hobbies, shuts down the power to a city for said hobbies, and seemed generally melancholic.
> 
> Also why did Lucas get Flint to go away and not help? Sometimes, someone with Flint's energy just makes it worse. Some days, it just needs to be a slow day. And on Destiny, she's actually not an OC. She's one of Volkner's Gym Trainers from the games.
> 
> As a side note, I actually based Lucas's team on my own from Drayano's Renegade Platinum mod. Though if you want an in-universe reason for why Lucas has Pokemon not native to Sinnoh, he got Cyndaquil in a trade from Crystal and Trapinch while doing work for Prof. Rowan in Hoenn.
> 
> Dunno what my next project will be though. I have a list of subjects on my profile, but I don't have inspiration for everything yet.


End file.
